Slay Belles & Mayhem: A Medley of Dark Tales

by Dani René

  “What is?”

  My tear-filled eyes meet his, the rage within them terrifies me.

  “Mother—”

  “Never mention her—either of them—ever again,” he shouts once more.

  “They sent you away,” I sob. “Because of me.”

  I watch in horror as a terrifying smile grows wide on his face. He was the nice one, though. He wasn’t this threatening in the woods or even earlier when I was brought up from the cellar.

  Was I mistaken?

  “That’s right, little girl. You’re incredibly stupid for coming here. Looking for us.”

  He lets go of my wrists and backs away. My legs give out and I slide along the face of the cabinet to the floor.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Liar.”

  “I swear! On my life!” I take a deep breath, trying to control my sobbing. “I just found out a couple of days ago. I left to come and find you as soon as I heard.”

  I look up at him through long, drenched lashes and silently plead for him to believe me.

  “I came to find you, to be with my brothers. The way it should have been from the beginning.”

  His shadowed form cranes over me. It’s hard to see his face now, with the sunlight glaring through the window behind him. After a few minutes of agonizing silence, he finally speaks again.

  “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  “I won’t.”

  He doesn’t move from his spot as if he’s worried I’m going to run.

  “I promise.”

  Chapter Four

  Benjamin

  I believed her when she said she didn’t know about us, but I wanted to hear her beg for mercy. I’m not as mean as James, but something snapped inside of me when I saw the grief, heavy in her eyes, beginning to pull her under.

  Was she ever going to tell us?

  Did she think that she could come here and live with us and her guilt would eventually just go away?

  There’s nothing to forgive her for, she didn’t do anything wrong.

  Do you really believe that?

  But she’ll never be able to go about forgiving herself if she can’t say the truth out loud.

  I go out to the shed and get a fifty-foot length of chain, a cuff, and some bolts. She may not be ready to run just yet, but it won’t be long until she changes her mind. James isn’t going to make it easy for her here, but at least I’ve been able to talk him out of killing her.

  For now.

  Carrying the chain across the yard, I enter the house again. I can tell she’s still there by the sobs that are floating from the kitchen. I wouldn’t have minded chasing after her though. Harry may be the huntsman of the family, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it, too.

  As I enter the room again, I walk to the stove and place everything on the ground. Making quick work of the materials I brought with me, I wrap the chain around the leg that props the oven up off of the ground. Securing it with a bolt, I move across the room to where Jocelyn is sitting against one of the cabinets. Taking hold of her ankle, I wrap the cuff around it and secure it with another bolt.

  “This chain is fifty-feet long. You will be able to reach the garden, the cellar, the dining room, and the sitting room with no issue. Those are the only places you’ll need to get to when you’re here by yourself.”

  I stand and look down at her, sitting at my feet. The shirt that I gave her to wear is currently riding up her thigh, threatening to expose everything a lady of her station would want to keep hidden. My cock grows stiff as I try to control the groan rising from my chest, but fail. She looks up at me with curiosity before following my stare to the apex of her thighs. Quickly, she tugs at the shirt, covering up the few inches of alabaster thigh that I could see.

  I smirk at her when her eyes meet mine again.

  “Come.” I offer her my hand.

  It takes her a moment, but she accepts and places her hand in mine. I pull her to her feet and she immediately does another check that her shirt is in place. She knows I’ve already seen her body. The curve of her hips. The roundness of her breasts. The unkempt manner in which she keeps the hair that covers her sweet pussy. We’ve had many women grace the halls of this manor over the years. A few of them believed in a more… minimalistic way of maintaining themselves.

  I want to tell her not to bother with the shirt, but I won’t. I’ll let my smug expression do it for me.

  “Down in the cellar you’ll find fruit, vegetables, meat, grain,” I motion toward the door that Harry practically dragged her through earlier. “This time of year, we’re lucky it’s so cold. We don’t have to go to much fuss to keep our food from rotting before we get a chance to eat it.”

  She nods in understanding.

  “The cellar is also where you will sleep,” I watch her carefully before I finish my statement, “unless one of us calls upon you for the evening.”

  Her eyes widen slightly, but only for a moment, managing to hide the way her pupils dilate at my statement.

  “You think because we’re related that we’ll take it easy on you?”

  “No,” she lies.

  “Good. Because blood means nothing to us. Not anymore.”

  An apologetic look crosses her face, but I don’t acknowledge it.

  “You’re to take care of all of the cooking and cleaning. Do you have any practice with either?”

  “No.” She hangs her head in shame.

  “It’s ‘No, my Lord’,” I remind her, firmly. “Don’t you remember what James said earlier?”

  “I’m sorry. No, my Lord. I don’t have any practice.”

  “Didn’t think so. I’ll teach you a few things today, but you’re going to need to figure most of it out on your own.”

  Jocelyn

  Benjamin pointed out which seasonings to use on the chicken and which vegetables to make with it. I watched as he placed different herbs upon the countertop. It was as if I was seeing them for the first time. I’ve eaten seasoned chicken plenty of times, but having to toss the ingredients together and make it taste delicious on my own? It will be like trying to talk in an unfamiliar language without proper tutoring.

  When he finished, he told me he had to go meet James. It's been hours since he left, and I’ve been grateful for the time alone to think. I need to get my head on straight. Wandering aimlessly between the kitchen, the dining room, and the sitting room, wiping the dust and dirt from different surfaces with the cloth that Benji gave, I take in my new surroundings.

  Thinking about my brothers, I’m saddened by how much time we’ve missed with one another. I’ve tried not to think about the effect that they’ve had on me today. I want to ask Benji about them; about all of them. I want to know everything.

  Which of them do I look most like?

  Which of them do I have things in common with?

  Do any of them hate carrots as much as I do?

  I’m lost in thought, sitting in an armchair in the living room, when I hear voices coming from outside. I stand quickly, not knowing whether I’m supposed to be sitting in the chair or not, and head toward the kitchen. It’s then it hits me that it’s starting to get dark outside.

  I curse myself for losing track of time. I’m never going to finish dinner by seven. Running into the kitchen as fast as the chain around my ankle will allow, I check the clock on the wall; it’s six o’clock.

  I might be able to pull this off.

  Just as the voices enter the house, I begin peeling the potatoes and carrots.

  “Why is it so dark in here?” A voice rings out.

  Damn it.

  I grabbed the tinderbox from the counter and walked into the sitting room.

  “I’m very sorry, my Lords,” speaking to the twins as I step foot into the room. “I’m still finding my bearings.”

  I wonder if they know that I am their sister?

  Did Benji tell everyone?

  “The lanterns in this room are to be lit before we return home for th
e day, sister,” one of them said.

  Why did I think they wouldn’t know? I look just like our mother.

  His voice sounds severe, but it contradicts the look on his face. The anger in his tone doesn’t match the relaxed expression on his face. A second later, a mischievous smile flashes across his face.

  “And the fireplace should be hot. If James had come home before us, it wouldn’t have been pretty,” the other one explains to me.

  His gentle voice tells me he’s watching out for me. That he doesn’t want me to give James an opportunity to hurt me. I don’t know which is Harry and I still don’t know the name of the other one.

  Do I ask?

  Am I allowed?

  I place the tinderbox next to a lantern on one of the tables in the sitting room and open it. Benji briefly explained how to use the materials inside, but I didn’t try it earlier when he asked me if I wanted to.

  Why didn’t I take him up on it?

  Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that I can do this. I pick up the piece of flint in one hand and the striker with the other. I know that I have to strike the flint to produce a spark, but…how do I get the spark to ignite the tinder?

  I place the flint and striker down on the table and pick up the bundle of tinder. Unraveling it, I get stuck and can’t remember what to do.

  My breathing increases and I can feel panic beginning to set in.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” I hear from over my shoulder.

  I jump, not expecting someone to be so close behind me.

  “I—um, Benji told me what to do. I just—I need to—”

  I can’t even speak right. How the hell am I supposed to remember what Benji told me to do hours ago?

  “I’ll show you. Come to the fireplace.”

  “Thank you, my Lord,” I dip my head and curtsey.

  “Listen, when James isn’t around, you don’t need to go on with the “my Lord” nonsense, okay? I’m Harry, he’s Henry. Our names work just fine.”

  Smiling at them, I can feel tears pricking my eyes. They’re so different from James. They’re nice, like Benji. Although, Benji does have his moments.

  How have they stayed here under James’ rule this long?

  Why didn’t they leave with the others?

  Thinking of the others, who I may never get to meet, makes me sad again.

  “Yes, Harry. Henry,” I nod, looking between the two men.

  My brothers.

  It’s then I notice that Harry has a slight scar above his right eye, splitting a small portion of his eyebrow from the rest of it.

  At least I’ll know how to tell them apart now.

  “You want to cut four or five pieces of tinder from the bundle. Then, you need to unravel each of them.”

  I watch intently as he unravels each piece. For a moment, I imagine that they were never sent away from the castle. Perhaps we’re playing make-believe and we’ve gone on a hunting trip. He’s making us a fire so we can cook our dinner. Or, maybe he’s simply being a good older brother and teaching me a life skill so I’ll be able to take care of myself one day. The thought has large tears filling the brims of my eyes.

  “Once you’ve done that to all of them, you want to roll them all together into a messy pile, like this. Then, find a sharp edge on the flint, and place a piece of char cloth over it. Take the striker in your other hand and flick your wrist, dragging it swiftly against the flint. See how the spark ignites the char cloth slightly?”

  Leaning in a bit, I can see a slight orange glow on the char cloth.

  “I see it,” I answer with a small smile.

  Noticing a lone tear rolling down my cheek, he swipes it away with his thumb. For a brief moment our eyes meet, but just as quickly he looks away.

  He picks up the ball of tinder that he unraveled and places the char cloth in the center of it. Then, he places it in the fireplace under a stack of wood that was already there.

  Within seconds, the tinder is fully engulfed in flames and heating the wood from below.

  Harry grabs a candle from the hearth and places the wick to the flame, igniting it.

  “Here you are. Think you can handle the rest of these lanterns while Henry and I get cleaned up?”

  “Yes, my—Harry,” I answer. “Thank you.”

  They leave the room and I set about lighting the remainder of the candles. Once I’m finished, I return to the kitchen and light each lantern in there as well. Then, I put all of the materials back into the tinderbox and continue preparing the vegetables for dinner.

  Chapter Five

  Jocelyn

  A chill in the air causes a slight shiver in my body as I arrange the herbs on top of the chicken. I rub my arms to warm them up and then place the potatoes and carrots around the base of the bird. I look down at the first meal I’ve ever attempted to prepare and grin with pride.

  “You must have been chilly today, dressed in only that,” a voice startles me a short while later.

  My head shoots up and I see Harry is standing in the doorway. My eyes freeze on his. He wears the same gaze that Benji did this morning, when he barged in on me. I was so caught up in my accomplishment that I forgot where I was and the situation I’m in for a moment. I follow his gaze to my chest where my hardened nipples are outlined perfectly beneath the thin cloth. As if my body were programmed to do so, the warm desire returns to my stomach, dashing the chill I felt a minute ago.

  “Um,” I clear my throat. “Benji said he’ll go into town tomorrow to find proper clothing for me.”

  “Did he?” Harry controls the suspicious expression on his face but not before I notice it.

  What’s that about?

  I smile wearily and my gaze returns to the chicken. Picking the roasting pan up from the counter, I turn and place it in the oven, securing the door. Taking note of the time, I begin to collect the dinnerware. As I reach for the stack of plates, a soft touch fingers the inside of my thigh lightly. I jump from the contact and the dishes in my hand clamor down to the floor. I turn in place quickly.

  “It’s okay,” Harry says, as he wraps his hand around my throat softly and pushes me back against the counter.

  His eyes bore into mine as his other hand traces the inside of my thigh again. This time he trails it a little higher. The warm ache spreads further through my body, like it did earlier today. It grows stronger the higher his slow, agonizing tickle rises toward that sweet spot between my legs. My shaking body confuses me. I don’t know if it quakes with fright or anticipation.

  Perhaps both.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  “Don’t be scared,” he tells me.

  “We just want to get to know you a little better,” another voice chimes in.

  When I open my eyes, I see Henry standing next to his twin. The expression on his face has me swallowing a bundle of nerves that seem to be stuck in my throat. It’s as though he’s been starving and I am the meal that will save his life.

  Squeezing himself between my back and the counter behind me, I am stuck between the two of them. Harry’s soft lips graze my throat. Henry’s fingers grip my hair, uncovering my bare shoulder before he lands a kiss against my skin. He hangs my hair over the opposite shoulder, out of their way, and his hands trace their way down my sides. He grabs at the fabric I’m draped in and lifts it enough so I can see Harry’s finger on my thigh. Henry’s hands find my hips and his fingertips singe my skin.

  He draws his fingers upward along my torso until he’s cupping my breasts beneath the fabric. Taking my nipples between his fingers and thumbs, he squeezes them gently, forcing a soft moan from me.

  “Does that feel good?” Henry asks me.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  Harry’s fingers are a hair’s breadth from the apex of my thighs now. My heart races quicker than it ever has before in anticipation of him touching me there.

  Punishment.

  The lie circles around in my head again.

  Harry releases
his lips from my throat and says, “What about this?”

  His fingers nuzzle circles over the small bead that no one else has touched before him.

  “Yes,” I answer with a sharp inhale.

  Henry removes one of his hands and places it on my ass. Squeezing it lightly, he makes his way in between my legs from behind. He runs a finger through my opening as Harry continues circling my clit; a bit faster, a bit harder.

  Their own enjoyment is evident, their erections pressing harder against my skin as they grow. Harry’s pushes on my leg, while Henry’s juts out into my lower back. My mind races thinking about how wrong this is.

  Blood means nothing to us.

  Benji’s’ words from earlier ring through my head, reminding me that though we’re related, we’re complete strangers. If we’d grown up together as a family, as God had intended, this wouldn’t be happening. But we didn’t. And it’s my fault.

  More lies.

  “You’re wet, Jocelyn.”

  Henry places his finger level with my stare so I can see it glisten. My eyes widen as I feel the blood rush to my face, warming my cheeks with embarrassment again.

  “It’s beautiful,” Harry says, my eyes paralyzed by his stare. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Open up,” Henry commands.

  I lick my dry lips and open my mouth slightly, thinking Harry is going to kiss me. But when I see Henry move his finger closer to my tongue, I’m horrified.

  “I can’t,” I state, and close my mouth.

  “No, no,” Harry says.

  He places two fingers on my bottom lip, forcing my jaw to open again.

  “Tongue out.”

  Slowly, my tongue glides along his fingers until it’s far enough out of my mouth.

  “That’s a good girl,” Harry says.

  His eyes dart to Henry’s, then back to mine. I hide behind my closed lids as Henry’s finger touches my tongue, the taste unexpectedly sweet. I want nothing more than to crawl under a rock and never come out again.

  “Eyes open, Jocelyn.”

  “The way your pupils dilate when we make you feel good is enough to make me come all over your pretty little pussy,” Harry says.